You are luminous
by electricuniverse
Summary: basically, it's teenlock in an AU somewhat along the lines of how they really meet.
1. Chapter 1

John looked out the window of his small apartment room. The radio was a quiet sound in the background of his thoughts. He could see the grey wall of the building next door. It was always being covered in graffiti, repainted, only to be vandalized yet again. John liked the routine of it all. It was one of the only dependable things in his life. His college wasn't going too smoothly, and he constantly relied on Molly to help him. He couldn't stay awake in class. His sleep depression was horrible, and he had to take more sleeping pills than most doctors would recommend. But it didn't work all that well.

Coldplay was on the radio, and john barely bounced his foot, making his old spring bed creak ever so slightly. He went into his kitchen, if you could call it such a thing. More of a fridge and a stove than anything. Only three months moved out from his parent's house, and already too poor to afford a bigger apartment. He chuckled and shook his head ever so slightly.

"How am I gonna get out of this one?" he said to himself.

The next day was dull, and fairly similar to the last few. Molly trying desperately to keep john awake without getting in trouble. Molly nagging him about how he "Should get a flatmate. Helps pay the rent. I do it." And so on.

Although the day wasn't, different, the night was. John decided to take molly's advice finally and as soon as he was home, he put an ad up on craigslist London. He would have to wait now.

Two weeks and 4 potential but unflattering flatmates later, john received a somewhat odd response. It read, 'meet me at 221b Baker street, Sunday, 6:00. –SH'

"might as well," thought John.

It was Sunday, 5:52, as John approached the suggested living situation. A tall boy with dark, curly hair and eyes just as dark stood outside. Maybe 18 or 19, around the same age as John.

"Hello" said John, offering his hand. "Are you here about the ad?" The boy looked at his hand and seemed to hide slight vanity. He did not take it. Instead, he spoke, taking his eyes off John's hand.

"John Watson I assume." John began to reply, but was cut off. "Of course you are. Who else would you be? " His eyes were still fixed on Johns, expressionless and somewhat arrogant. "I know the landlady, Mrs. Hudson. She owes me a debt. Can I use your phone?" John was puzzled, but complied and handed him the phone. He tried to speak again, only to be cut off again by the opening door. A small middle aged woman stood in the doorway. The dark boy smiled at the woman, and she hugged him.

"Hello dear, is this the young man you were talking about? The one you'll be looking at a flat with?"

John waited no longer. "Yes, I'm Jo-" cut off.

"John Watson, Mrs Hudson. You'll get along fine, now let's have a look at the flat."

John stopped trying.

It was a nice flat. It was fairly messy, boxes everywhere, full of books, science materials, and a strange skull sat above the fireplace. John and the boy talked at

the same time, so it sounded like, "Yeah it'll be nice-I've just-if we just clear-got everything moved in-out everything-already"

"Oh, sorry." Said john, embarrassed.

"No, no it's uh, it's okay, I can just, um," the boy started to shuffle things around and stack them as if it made the room look nicer. "It'll be more sorted tomorrow." He said.

"but-"

"Been lovely. Gotta dash. I'm late, and Mycroft will be wondering. We'll take it Mrs. HJudson." He started down the stairs.

"Wait!" shouted John, making him pause and come back into the doorway. "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't even know your name." The boy smiled as if he was about to do something extremely clever. And then he did.

"I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him—possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. I know you've gone to a boarding school with military-like precautions and teachers. You walk with a limp that your therapist thinks is from trauma, most likely one of the teachers at your school gave out beatings as punishment, possibly all of them. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think? The name's Sherlock Holmes. Afternoon." Sherlock winked at John, smiled and was gone before he could say anything.

Mrs. Hudson spoke up. "Just you wait. He's always like that."

Maybe John didn't mind if he was always like that.


	2. a study in sherlock

John woke up to the sound of violin. It was a beautiful sound, vibrating off the walls and creeping into his room, quiet, but still waking for someone as light a sleeper as John.

Sherlock stood, looking out the window. He heard John's door creek, glanced over and smiled at him. A somewhat devious smile, and like all of the smiles, curiously warming to john. The song reminded john of something he heard on the radio once. Was it the radio? He couldn't remember.

Sherlock continued as John got ready leisurely for college. As the song finished, John clapped a bit, suppressing the desire to suggest an encore.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometime I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you?" Sherlock asked.

"Um, no not at all. That song you played was great."

"Lindsay Sterling." Announced Sherlock. "Not my usual, but she's a much more likable artist than most these days."

John was recalling it now. "She's the one who turns pop music into violin pieces? Right?"

Sherlock looked pleased. "correct. Most people don't know her, being a violinist. Shame. That piece was crystalize."

"It was wonderful." Said john, as he poured his tea.

Sherlock was silent.

Molly: So I saw him the other day. He's really cute.

John: Who?

Molly: Sherlock! Your flatmate? He came into the hospital where I volunteer. Said he wanted to talk to one of the patients.

John: Yeah he's got an obsessive thing about murders and mysteries and stuff he shouldn't probably know about.

Molly: Kind of a bad boy. Cute.

John: Oh god.

John came home and looked in the fridge for something to eat only to find a huge jar of fingers inside. Sherlock emerged from his room and before John could say something, Sherlock was already talking.

"It's an experiment."

"Fingers in the refrigerator is not an experiment!"

"I'm seeing what happens when dislocated limbs soak in lemon-rose water for approxim-"

"I don't care what you're doing! It's disgusting!"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at John in a slightly surprised manner, as if nobody had ever talked to him like that. "Please?" he said, in mock sadness, his lips pouting.

"Ugh." John placed the fingers back in the fridge and closed the door.

"Excellent." Said Sherlock, now grinning. "I wanted to eat out anyway. Care to join me?"

Half an hour later, they were at a restaurant owned by a friend of Sherlock's. The man kept referring to John as Sherlock's date, and while John protested, Sherlock stayed oddly quiet. John ate some sort of pasta dish, but when offered some, Sherlock refused.

"Eating slows me down." He explained.

They ate in silence for a short time, when John said, "Your girlfriend must just love you. Either quiet, or nonstop interruption? How's that?"

"I don't have one." Said Sherlock, still looking out the window.

"You don't have a girlfriend then?" John asked.

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

"Alright... Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way." Sherlock looked at him now blankly, responding almost too quick.

"I know it's fine."

"So you got a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me. Fine. Good." A silence filled the room even through the chatter of other occupants in the restaurant.

"John, erm... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any..." he trailed off.

"No. I'm... not asking. No. I'm just saying, it's all fine."

"Good. Thank you." And he looked out the window again. Dinner was quiet again and they made some small talk avoiding eye contact the rest of the night until they arrived home.


	3. day 14

Sherlock woke up very early that morning. He put the kettle on, and sat on the couch, wearing a robe that was barely too big. It was very soft and very blue and he decided he would refuse to wear anything else that day, as the kettle started to make a very low whistling noise. He looked up at it, and sighed, realizing he would have to get up.

"Huuuuuuuuuggghhh." Is along the lines of what he said as he got up when the whistle became annoying. He was thinking about the past few weeks. He hadn't seen much of John, who was occupied mainly by collage at the time. He missed him. He was bored. And he felt a small pang of happiness every time he saw John. He liked it, but was also made nervous by it. It was strange and new for him to have that happen.

And as if on cue, John stumbled lazily out of his room. Sherlock suppressed a smile and offered him tea instead. John gladly took the cup and shuffled over to his chair. Sherlock proceeded to follow and sit across from him. John's sweater was a bit big, and his fingers poked out of the end, although his hands were hidden for the most part.

He raised his eyebrows at Sherlock and sleepily smiled. Sherlock thought how adorable he was. He was surprised by the thought and quickly cleared it from his head. He smiled back.

"Morning."

"Doesn't feel like it." Said John.

"Ha. Another late night studying?"

"I can't sleep. I might as well do something."

Before he could stop himself, Sherlock said, "You could always sit out here and chat. I don't sleep much either." He regretted it immediately.

Luckily John responded well, not seeming like the comment bothered him. "I could. But I might go mad after 15 minutes." They both laughed and again Sherlock felt happy. What was happening to him?

John was at college, and Sherlock sat at home, once again bored. He spent most of his time playing the violin and ignoring texts from Mycroft.

John began walking home from college. A phone in a nearby shop began to ring. John stopped and looked. The second someone reached to answer it, it stopped ringing. He continued down the road, and a telephone booth began ringing as he walked past it. He paused yet again, and decided not to answer it, only to have the next one ring as he walked close. He sighed, and went inside the booth. He picked up the phone, and said, "Hello?"

He didn't recognize the other voice. "There is a camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?"  
"Sorry, who is this?"

"Do you see the camera?"

"Yeah… Yeah I see it." John was confused but continued to talk anyway.

"Watch." The camera began to move, pointing itself at another while the man talked. There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?" Then that camera moved, " And finally at the top of the building on your right."

"How are you doing this?"

"Get into the car, Watson. I would make some sort of threat but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you."

A black car pulled up, and John got in next to a rather attractive girl. She was fiddling on her phone the whole ride, and John tried to make conversation, but for the most part she ignored him.

They arrived at a warehouse. John wasn't sure exactly where the warehouse was, only that it was not somewhere he wanted to be.

There was a slim, tall man, wearing a suit, maybe in his early 20's leaning on an umbrella in the middle of it all. In front of him stood a chair.

"You know, I've got a phone." Said John to the man who he assumed was the voice in the booth. "I mean, very clever and all that. But, uh, you could just phone me. On my phone."

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes one learns to be discreet. Hence this place. Your leg must be hurting you. Sit down." He referenced the chair with his umbrella.

"I don't want to sit down."

"You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening."

"Yes. The bravery of an abused child. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity don't you think? What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him... a few weeks ago."

"Hm and since then you've moved in with him. Are we to expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

"Who are you?"

"An interested party."

"Interested in Sherlock, why? I'm guessing you're not friends."

You've met him. How many friends do you imagine he has. I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having friends."

"And what's that?"

"An enemy."

"An enemy?"

"In his mind certainly. If you were to ask him he'd probably say his archenemy. He does love to be dramatic."

"Well thank god you're above all that."

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business."

"It could be."

"It really couldn't."

"I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to… ease your way.

"Why?"

"Because you're not a wealthy man."

"In exchange for what?"

"Information. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?"

"I worry about him. Constantly."

"That's nice of you."

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a difficult relationship."

"No."

"I haven't mentioned a figure."

"Don't bother."

"You're very loyal, very quickly." He was annoying John.

"No I'm not. I'm just not interested."

"'Trust issues,' it says here."

"What's that?"

"Could it be you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"

"Who says I trust him?"

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily."

"Are we done?"

"You tell me."

"I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen." He pointed at John's hand.

"My what?"

"Show me." He held out his hand to take John's.

"Don't—" The man cocked an eyebrow and gave a look that said, 'really, you're going to be a wimp about me touching your hand?' John sighed and held it out.

"Remarkable."

"What is?"

"Most people blunder around this city and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield. You've seen it already, haven't you. "

"What's wrong with my hand?"

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand." John nodded slightly. "Your therapist thinks it's posttraumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your childhood."

"Who the hell are you?" John was a bit scared but dare not show it now. "How do you know that?"

"Fire her. She's got it the wrong way around. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady. You're not haunted by danger, Watson. You miss it… Welcome back."

John moved back towards the car and as he got in, he heard the man speak again.

"Time to choose a side, Dr. Watson."

John arrived back at 221b to find Sherlock still in his robe, lying on the couch, his hands pressed together, touching his chin, similar to when he had left that morning.

"I met a friend of yours." He told him as he took off his coat.

Sherlock looked confused and straightened to look at john. "A friend?"

"An enemy."

He looked much less confused now. "Oh." He straightened again. "Which one?"

"Your arch enemy."

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"And did you accept?"

"Of course not, no." said John, meeting his eyes.

"Pity. We could've split the money. Think next time." Sherlock then proceeded to stand up, smile at John, and go into his room."

John wished he would come back out again. He missed him and it was the kind that never went away. Even when he was with him he wished he could be closer. John wasn't gay, so why was he feeling like this? He questioned himself. He thought he accepted himself and was open with what he felt, but maybe it was a special case.

How did he feel about Sherlock?

Sherlock sat in his room, because he didn't want to face John or his feelings for him. He considered himself asexual, but that was before. Now he really wasn't sure and that was new. He was always sure.

How did he feel about John?


End file.
